


Changing Lanes

by Schwoozie



Series: And Baby Makes Four [14]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Car Accidents, Domestic Fluff, Family Drama, Hospitalization, Morning Routines, Multi, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Multiple, Polyamory, Relationship Reveal, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:36:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14782046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: Beth's been dating Rick and Daryl for three years and she's happier than she's ever been. The only thing that would make her life better is if she could share her family with the men she loves.After a traumatic intervention, that day comes sooner than any of them expect.





	Changing Lanes

**Author's Note:**

> The story of the Greene's discovering the truth of Beth, Rick, and Daryl's relationship.
> 
> Get ready for drama, y'all.

> It is a wise father that knows his own child [...]  
>  But at the length  
>  Truth will out. – _The Merchant of Venice_

Beth scrunches her nose and makes a noise low in her throat, legs shifting beneath the sheets. Her mind has barely peeked above the murky water of sleep; notices only that something has disturbed her. Her internal clock isn't screeching at her to get up yet, so it must be very early in the day, before sunrise probably. Shadows undulate on the other side of her eyelids like the room isn't as still as it should be at this hour, but she's too comfortable to pay much attention. Flannel sheets, a comforter, and the quilt she worked on with her mama on cold days like these wrap her in a cocoon of body heat and it isn't long before she begins to drift away.

But there, again, what first woke her: tiny tugs at the edges of her eyelids as something disturbsthe lashes. The noise she makes is higher this time, closer to a whine as she bats at the air in front of her face. She doesn't hit anything and her arm falls limp across her body, her head turning a little on the pillow.

Only a few moments pass before the disturbance repeats, on the other eye and then on both. She swipes a hand across her face, but again, meets nothing.

As soon as she relaxes she feels it again, and with an indignant groan she blinks her eyes open.

Sleep-slurred as she is, there's nothing confusing about what she sees: Rick and Daryl leaning over her from either side, Daryl's lips twitching and Rick full-on grinning. She frowns and a chuckle bubbles up from Rick's chest as he reaches forward and drifts his index finger through her eyelashes.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says.

“Why?” Beth mumbles. Daryl chuckles this time, ducking his head to kiss her cheek. Like a Pavlovian response, his breath on her face prompts her to turn her head. The next kiss lands on her lips, drawing a sigh from her body as a warm hand works its way beneath the shirt she slept in, settling on her stomach. Another hand cups her breast over her tee, squeezing gently before resting there like it's where it belongs.

Beth presses into the touches, flickers of arousal sparking between her legs even as she knows that they won't let it get beyond a simmer. It's one of the rare days when their work schedules all line up, and none of them can afford to stay in bed for long.

She's finding that harder to remember, though, as the bodies on either side of her press closer, Rick slinging a leg over one of hers as he leans in to kiss her neck, tongue swirling seductively.

“Stop,” she whines, pushing without conviction against Rick's chest. The flesh under her hands rumbles with his amusement, but he does listen to her, pulling off her neck to press a chaste kiss to her temple. On her other side, Daryl settles into the curve of her shoulder, the hand she has now identified as his sliding from her stomach to her side in a loose embrace.

“Stop what?” Rick asks, squeezing her breast again when Beth's hand lands on top of his.

“Stop making me comfy,” she mutters, knowing her tone is petulant but not caring much. “We have responsibilities, remember?”

“Makin' you comfy _is_ our responsibility,” Daryl says, hand warm and strong where it massages her ribs.

Rick, as always, is far less subtle: the hand on her breast drops down between her legs, squeezing her over her pajama pants and making her hips jerk.

“Can make you even comfier if you wanna,” he says, grin pressed into the side of her head.

For a moment—just a moment—she imagines what that would look like. Rick and Daryl calling into work, feigning illness; Beth texting a classmate to make sure they'll send her the lecture notes. Then tossing their phones away and snuggling all together on this cold winter day. She doubts clothes would be removed, at least not completely—would make it even harder to complete the necessary tasks of using the bathroom and grabbing snacks from the kitchen—but they'd all get theirs.

Rick's crude grope has turned more thoughtful, his grip loosening so he can maneuver more easily, a finger pressing her clothing between her lips and against her clit, the cloth just thin enough that she can feel the ghost of his heat, can imagine—and remember—how good he would feel against her bare skin. Daryl isn't as obvious in his ministrations but she knows he has the same thing on his mind; his hips press lazily into her thigh, making his morning wood more than present. She realizes that her fingers have curled into Daryl's hair as he presses soft kisses to her neck and she's starting to long for the feeling of one of them, both of them, in her palms; their balls cradled so softly in her hands, blasting heat like velvet-covered water bottles.

But it will be just as cold tonight and over the coming weekend, just a day away, and even though she's younger than both of them by nigh on 20 years it's up to her, as usual, to be the adult here.

With a heavy sigh she pushes herself up, throwing the covers back and ignoring Rick and Daryl's protests as the cold rushes in. She clambers over Rick's body and hurries into the hall to turn up the thermostat—just a little, she doesn't want to be lulled back to bed again—and pokes her head back into the bedroom. She grins when she sees Rick and Daryl sitting up on the edge of the bed, Daryl's face pressed sleepily into Rick's neck as Rick whispers in his ear.

She knows it's a bad idea, but that doesn't stop her from walking forward. Rick and Daryl both look at her as she approaches and Rick lifts his arm to give her room to slide onto his lap. She stretches her legs across both of them, one ankle ducking between Daryl's thighs for balance as Rick tugs her in, pulling her head to his shoulder. Daryl's hand lands on her knee, rubbing small circles with his thumb as his posture shifts and Beth can tell he's leaning into Rick again too.

“One more day,” Beth sighs.

“Then two more and we gotta do it all over again,” Daryl grumbles.

Rick chuckles and Beth giggles and none of them speak for several minutes. Again, a bad idea. But at least they're out of bed. Halfway out.

Finally Beth sighs heavily and tugs herself free. This time Rick and Daryl don't protest; just echo her sigh and stand with her, separating to go about their morning business. With three of them and just one bathroom, they've long developed a routine: Rick gets the coffee and toast going while Daryl pisses and Beth tugs her clothes on.

Beth pauses in the middle of buttoning up her flannel, ducking her head towards her clavicle and smiling to herself as she inhales. They all showered before bed—together, to conserve hot water, of course—and after a night tangled up in them, even without sex, their scent lingers on Beth's skin. She doubts anyone else would notice—is surprised that she herself still notices after all these years—but it makes something warm and glowing settle in her gut to know she carries them with her through the day.

The rest of the morning passes in near silence. Beth is more of a morning person than Rick and Daryl are but she respects their quiet resistance to the day, watching with not a little amusement as they gulp their coffee down. She puts hers in a thermos to drink during class and kisses Rick in thanks when he offers up the plate of toast, hers already slathered with the preserves she makes when she visits the farm.

“One'a these days you're gonna sit and eat with us,” Daryl says, words slurred as he chews his own toast.

“I eat with you all the time,” she says, grabbing her bag and double checking her wallet and keys are where they should be.

“Not before class,” Rick chimes in. “Excited to get outta here and see someone?”

Beth rolls her eyes. “Yes, my _other_ two boyfriends are waiting in the car, how could I ever keep them waiting?” She checks the time on her phone and cringes. “See, this is why I don't eat, y'all make me late.”

“Remember your turn signal,” Rick says, not looking up from the paper in his lap.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Beth says, offering another kiss to both of them before darting out the door.

She hurries into the lot across the street and climbs into the blue Subaru Daddy got her for her 21st birthday. It was Patricia's until her eyes got bad and she stopped driving, so it ain't like Daddy spent a fortune on it; Otis and Patrica are family and no matter how Daddy'd protest, the family discount always applies between them. Doesn't mean Beth didn't cry when Daddy handed her the keys. She'd been doing just fine with Rick and Daryl dropping her off, friends who didn't ask questions bringing her home at night. But she underestimated the freedom having her own car would bring. Even though their part of town is more than walkable, it's a good 15 miles to campus, 10 more to get to the farm. Sometimes she wonders whether the gift was a not-so-subtle hint that she ought to make her way home more often.

She feels a pang of guilt as she starts the engine, has to pause a moment before wrestling the stick shift into gear and pulling out of the lot. It isn't that she doesn't _want_ to visit the farm; she knows how lucky she is to have a home that welcomes her back so lovingly. But once she met Rick and Daryl—once she realized both how much she loved to spend time with them and how much it hurt to keep that from her family—her visits grew fewer and fewer. Phone calls too. How can she “catch up” when the most important parts of her life need to stay secret?

She thinks about that, as she sometimes does. What the harm would _really_ be in telling Daddy and Maggie who she's been with for the past three years. In her town, women who've been in a relationship for three years are usually married and halfway to their second kid. Just from the metric of time, there's no doubt Rick and Daryl are serious about her. Officially their funds are separate but they've paid for each other's lunches and groceries so often that they might as well be working from a joint account. She hasn't met Rick's family, except the few times she's watched his daughter, but she's on friendly terms with Daryl's brother, an honor she knows Merle doesn't bestow often. And if Daddy could meet them, see how they treat her...

But he won't, at least not yet. Beth, Rick, and Daryl decided long ago that she wouldn't tell her family about them until she'd graduated. It wouldn't lessen the sting of years of lies, but by then she'd be an adult in all the ways her father would care about; or so she hopes. She can't exactly ask for advice from other people in this situation.

She stops for a red light and after a moment of hesitation digs her phone out of her bag, pressing “call” and setting it on the dash, close enough for the speakerphone to pick her up. She sits back, drumming her fingers on the wheel until he answers.

“Hey Doodlebug,” Daddy says, and Beth smiles despite herself. Rick and Daryl have their own pet names for her, of course; but that doesn't keep the glowing warmth from her chest when she hears this particular name in the same cadence and voice she's been hearing for two decades. A name and a voice she's heard much less often in the past three years.

“Hi Daddy,” Beth says, easing forward as the light turns green. “I didn't wake you, did I?”

Daddy chuckles. “You've been off the farm too long, Beth.”

Beth knows he didn't mean his words as chastisement—Daddy's the least passive aggressive person she knows—but it doesn't stop another pang of guilt to hit her stomach. She makes a mental note to swing by next weekend. The next two days she's promised to Rick and Daryl (and herself, she thinks, rolling her shoulders against the tension of too much school and too few orgasms), but Daddy deserves her time too.

“I know,” Beth says, longing and frustration in her voice. “I'll make it up to you, I promise. School's just–“

“You don't have to explain, Bethy,” Daddy says. His easy understanding cuts her deep, but she's become good at numbing herself to the feeling. “You on your way to class now?”

“Yeah,” Beth says, glancing at the dashboard clock and changing into a faster lane. “Running late, but what else is new?”

“The important thing is you get there in one piece.”

Beth rolls her eyes. “I know, Daddy, I know.” She pauses, biting her lip. “How are you doing? We haven't talked in a while...”

“I'm good. Knees ache something awful by the end of the day, but you know how the weather's been.”

Beth frowns. “Have you gotten that checked out? If it's arthritis or a tear–“

“I keep forgetting I'm talking to a future doctor.” The tones of pride in Daddy's voice make Beth's heart twist. “Don't worry about me, Bethy. I know what to look for too.”

“I know you've heard that doctors are the worst patients. And that includes veterinarians!”

Daddy chuckles. “I know, I know. Next time you visit, you can check me out, how about that?”

“Of course,” Beth says, speeding up as she rounds the last corner before the straightaway to campus. She's quiet for a few moments, gathering her thoughts. “You know... Dad...”

“ _Dad?_ ” he says lightly. “Sounds like you have something serious to tell me.”

“No, not serious. I just–“

Movement flickers in the corner of Beth's eye and before she can look the world throws her into darkness.

* * *

Drumming his fingers on his knees, Rick wonders for probably the hundredth time why he hasn't asked for a new partner yet. Loyalty, adherence to routine, whatever bullshit it might be. He and Shane have been growing apart since before he broke up with Lori, and with all the secrets that have entered his life since then...

Sometimes Rick pictures himself sitting Shane down and telling him about the past three years. He can't imagine getting through the second sentence before Shane's derailing the conversation to talk about this chick or that. Shane's always been into sharing stories of his sexual conquests, but now it's like that's all they talk about. Or, all Shane talks about. Rick's never exactly part of the conversation. He makes the requisite grunting noises to indicate some level of attention while privately wishing he could fuck off home already. Meet Daryl at the garage, or Beth on campus, go out for lunch with them. Hell, he'd deputize them both if it'd get him out of Shane's car.

Now's one of the rare moments of quiet in his workday: waiting for Shane to finish flirting with the counter girl at Dunkin' Donuts (“Stop fuckin' groaning, man, I've seen her pick shit off the floor; don’t even need to use her knees, bitch's bendy as a fucking twist-tie”), bring out the coffee and polyethylene eggs that Rick really doesn't need but that he asks for every time because if he's eating or drinking, at least he won't have to talk. And anyway, it's tradition; since the day they started as traffic cops this has been the stop they make before starting their shift. Rick can't make an argument for its futility without getting into everything else, and, well.

It's been long enough since she said it that he's willing to admit Lori was right. He's shit at talking about his feelings. With most people, at least; Daryl's worse at expression than Rick is, and Beth has a way of getting him talking without realizing he's doing it.

Maybe it isn't a problem with _him_ at all. Maybe talking with Lori and Shane has just never felt worth the effort.

His musing is cut off when Shane opens the drivers' side door. Rick grabs the coffees before Shane drops down, rocking the ancient squad car like it's a fucking lowrider. Shane lets out a sigh of satisfaction, tossing the bag of food into Rick's lap too before pulling his door shut and turning the key.

“I'm telling you, man, one more week and that chick's gonna be givin' me her panties in my wake-up wrap. Goddamn.”

“'Kay, first of all, you better make sure they end up in _yours_ ,” Rick says, raising his voice as the dispatch radio crackles to life. “Second, you even know her name yet?”

Shane looks at him like he thinks Rick's an idiot. It's a familiar look. “She's got a name-tag, jesus. Her name's Evie. Sweet, sweet Evie.”

“You ever _ask_ her? Chains with turnover like these'll reuse name-tags so they don't have to buy new ones.”

“Grimes. I know her fucking name.”

“Alright.” Rick puts their coffee in the console cupholders and pulls his sandwich out of the bag. He isn't even hungry yet, but he knows that if he doesn't eat it within five minutes of being cooked it'll be unfit for birds. He pauses in his unwrapping as a call comes in from not too far away, but another car answers before he can. Someone, probably a senior citizen, found a joint on the sidewalk; he's pretty sure one car can handle it.

“'Least I ain't gone celibate,” Shane says, mouth full of his own sandwich as he pulls out of the lot. “I know I say this every day–“

“You do.”

“–but you gotta get yourself a piece, man. I don't know how you've stayed sane this long.”

Rick uses every ounce of interrogation training he has to keep from rolling his eyes. Not only is that a ridiculous association, but it's so patently untrue that Rick wonders how he ever considered Shane his best friend if he can't pick up on shit like this. He isn't getting off as often as he did three years ago, but he doesn't mind. And that isn't a platitude; he honestly doesn't mind. The anxiety that existed with Lori—that their almost nightly sessions in the bedroom dropping to maybe once a weekend was connected to a decline he didn't know how to fix—doesn't exist now.

He loves getting Daryl and Beth to himself. Coming home after a long day and finding Daryl sprawled across their bed, gazing down at Beth with her head in his lap, a heavily highlighted and annotated reading in hand, pen between her teeth and a scrunch over her nose—it shouldn't make his cock ache as much as his heart. Or maybe it should. In the end it doesn't matter, and one thing he's realized is there's no shame in connecting the two.

No shame in thinking now about what comes next: Daryl and Beth hearing his breathing in the doorway, turning their gazes to him, soft smiles on their faces as Beth sets her work aside and rolls onto her belly, ass plush and delicious in her lounge pants, Daryl's hand enormous as it curls around her skull or settles on her lower back... it makes Rick's own hands flex before he lets his jacket fall from his shoulders, hands rising to the buttons of his shirt as one of Daryl's moves to mold casually around Beth's ass, her eyes never leaving Rick's as she turns her head to rub her cheek against Daryl's jeans, grinning at his jump when she presses on his trapped cock.

How naturally Rick slides in beside them without a word, turning Daryl's head to kiss him deeply, drawing Daryl's cock out of his pants and feeling Beth's lips and tongue against his fingers as she licks Daryl up and down. Daryl reaching for Rick's own zip as Beth shifts, mouth never leaving Daryl's twitching cock as she moves to straddle on of his legs, grind against him as Rick's hand joins Daryl's on her ass before his fingers slip inside her pants between her legs, feeling her wet and drawing out more until she's moved off Daryl's leg and worked a condom from the bedside table onto Daryl's cock, tongue rolling against Rick's as she sinks down, her moans muffled and Daryl's free to ring through the room as he grips her hips and throws his head back, twisting to catch Rick's caressing fingers in his mouth, Rick's cock a few moments later. They're good at this now, very good; they know how to move together, how to return to the rhythm if one of them falters, how to decide without speaking who should be edged and who should come fast and how beautiful the sounds they make are, the three of them together: the obscene sounds of sex but also breathless laughter, contented hums, “I love you” whispered or moaned or anything in between.

Tangled together, naked or mostly naked, sated. Beth pulling from the knot they've made, using the bathroom; coming back and pulling on a robe while Rick and Daryl find their boxers and they all migrate to the kitchen, heat up the Thai Rick brought home and eat it on the couch, _Grace and Frankie_ on the TV. Beth's unrestrained laughter, a desperate hand flying to her mouth so noodles don't spew everywhere. Daryl grinning more at her than at the show, kissing Rick's cheek or mouth without prompting. Because he wants. Because he knows no one will shame him for it.

And that's what it comes down to: There's no shame. Not when it's the three of them. It's the outside world that's the problem.

“You really never think about settling down?”

Shane is silent for a few seconds, taking in being interrupted and then what Rick actually said. Rick drums his fingers on his leg then looks at Shane. His partner looks more taken aback than Rick can remember him looking in a long time.

“Where's that come from?” Shane asks, glancing at Rick before turning back to the road. “Thought it was your love life we were dealing with.”

“ _You_ were dealing with it,” Rick says, unable to keep his irritation from bleeding through. “I'm sitting here listening to you brag about the same two-dime dates with twenty different women and I'm wondering why you think that's so impressive.”

The length of Shane's ensuing silence tells Rick he's made a mistake; let slip a little too much ire, enough to be suspicious, and when Shane's suspicious he's like a bloodhound on the scent. That trait is what makes him a good cop, and for a long time it made him a good friend, but somewhere along the way he stopped paying attention.

He's paying attention now.

“I was the one who sat here listening to you moaning and groaning about Lori,” Shane says. “What was that, ten years of marriage you let fall apart?”

“I didn't _let_ anything–“

“Sure as hell didn't fight for it.” Shane glares at him out of the corner of his eye. “After a while it seemed like all you had was, wassit, a _two-dime date_. Two kids and a good woman and overnight they didn't exist anymore.”

Rick stares at Shane's rigid profile. “If you were so sick of hearing about it I'd think that would've made you happy.”

“I'm just saying. You're jawing me about settling down when you _had_ all that and it didn't make a bit of difference to you. Maybe you _were_ better than me 'cause of it–“

“I never thought–“

“–but now, lecturing me on what kind of date I should be when you've spent three years with your dick in your hand while Lori brings up those kids all on her own–“

“Shane, _Shane_!”

Shane's shocked silence rings in the car as Rick reaches for the dispatch radio, turns it as loud as it will go.

He knows Shane's looking at him, but he doesn't look back; doesn't give a shit what kind of bone Rick's throwing him right now. He stares at the radio, waiting, _begging_ to hear something different from what he think he heard.

“– _t-bone collision between a grey Ford Focus and a blue Subaru, first driver DOA, second an early-twenties female in critical condition, requesting fire dispatch and immediate hospital transport_ –“

“The fuck–“

“Shut up!”

“– _repeat, plate number GKS4421, emergency hospital transport requested–_ “

From the corner of his eye Rick sees the shoulder growing closer, feels the car slowing down.

“Don't pull over–”

“Grimes, jesus, are you having a stroke? What the fuck is going–“

“Shane, drive to the _fucking_ hospital!”

Later, Rick will realize that he's never raised his voice like that in his life. In the moment, he's too busy fumbling for his phone, hands shaking so hard he has to hang up three times before he manages to hit the right number.

They're moving. He couldn't say where to, but they're moving. Part of him notices that Shane's turned the sirens on, and later he'll be grateful.

Now, he listens to Daryl's cellphone ring through the line and feels the vibrations through his entire skull.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

Above the roaring in his ears, Rick's not even sure he made a sound.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! :)


End file.
